Cherubic Frame Of Fear
© Surazeus
2025 02 28

My shadow wounded by the silent sky
transforms into angel wings of desire
I cannot use to glide above this world,
for my heart is heavy with songs of death,
compressed by gravity of mute despair
as I recite names of souls killed in war.

Late winter evening gloom shrouds charity
with soft unfiltered cries of agony
encased by strict cherubic frame of fear
which sublimates our suffering with proverbs
contrived to conceal aggressive abuse
asserted by weak men who fear the truth.

Preserving silence of brave mountain peaks
in subtle valley of exploding oaks,
my heart flies up on wings of solitude
to listen for clear encouraging words
carved with bloody knives on cathedral doors
locked against desperate hope of refugees.

Though accountants still hover over Earth,
clutching bones engraved with names of dead kings,
the chorus girl walks out into the street,
draped in torn curtain from the theater,
to arrange white-painted branches of trees
so alligators know how to get home.

The honeycomb I find in rusted truck,
abandoned ninety-seven years ago,
explains to me her strangest dream of fate
about warships that drown in the raindrop,
so I ask Robert wearing the iron mask
what god he saw in mundane streets of Rome.

The Assyrian lion who plays flute
in the nameless meadows of Idaho
leads children killed in wars on signless road
past haven where Jehovah deals cocaine,
which proves confusion of America
means nothing to haughty Phoenician priests.

Gathering flakes of snow in humble hands,
Charlemagne returns jewels of false faith
to farmers getting drunk in country bars
while wheat and corn rot in arrogant fields,
so Vulcan recasts soul-bent saxophones
into automatic rifles preachers bear.

The chestnut that blossoms from my first grave
transforms bitterness of communal pain
into streets soaked with patriotic rain
that drenches innocent horses of faith
who lead me to the forest of sad wolves
where I find my wounded shadow in books.

surazeus.blogspot.com/2025/02/…

Orpheus and Robert Bly dive into Lake of Grendel to find the android Iron John programmed by artificial intelligence to paint portraits of men as gods.

#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #MetaRomanticism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism